


Riddle of the Wild Heart

by Brillador



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Eventual Romance, F/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-30
Updated: 2017-06-30
Packaged: 2018-11-21 12:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11357094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brillador/pseuds/Brillador
Summary: My Rumbelle Secret Santa fic for little-inkstone (@tumblr) back in 2014. Beast-tamer Belle wants to capture a creature no one has caught before. Rival tamer Rumplestiltskin wants in on her venture, and things get complicated.





	Riddle of the Wild Heart

_Some beasts are beyond taming._  So the mantra went among beast tamers, no matter the realm. No matter how experienced, patient, knowledgeable or courageous a tamer might be, there comes a point where a beast will not bend to domination, for or against its well-being. It should bring no shame that an ornery creature cannot be cowed by hand firm or kind. Nature is stubborn and sometimes indomitable.

Belle didn't believe that. Nature could never be fully reined in by human will, but its better instincts could be channeled. That was her philosophy. It inspired her with the courage to travel to a foreign land very unlike her own: hot, dry, sandy in places, and home to strange flora and fauna that captured her imagination. The people and customs were foreign as well, but manageable, especially since she planned to stay only as long as it took to find the object of her search. In the land called Kemet, the people wore light clothes that kept them cool but were long and concealing to keep out sand. Belle arrived in the capital city in a pale blue robe that reach her ankles and a scarf she could pull over her hair and face for protection. The creature she pursued lived in less hospitable terrain than that of the cities, towns and farms, which hugged the one river that cut through the country—a vital source of sustenance and trade. She looked forward to exchanging the dress for a pair of trousers equally equipped to cover her legs. The costume change waited until she and Sir Gaston, whom her stubborn father had  _insisted_  accompany her, were ready to trek into the desert.

“For the last time,” Belle said cheerlessly, “there will be no killing. Well, only as a very last resort.” She sat on a little cot in the sandstone room the travelers shared. A canvas screen separated their private quarters so each could dress and wash out of the other’s sight. Gaston was in no rush to leave Belle alone. He remained between her and the front door, hands locked behind him in a military stance. Hoping to drive him off with boredom, she perused her notes and a beloved bestiary. They were as sacred to her as the godly relics the clerics kept back home in the monastery.

The heat did not bother Gaston, apparently. He was wearing his knight’s doublet, trousers and cape. While Belle had jumped at the chance to try new attire, for curiosity and a budding sense of worldliness, her escort rejected the notion. He didn’t care to walk away touched by the places in which he sojourned. Belle was tempted to suspect that he looked down on the unfamiliar manners of other realms. In truth, he had tunnel vision when it came to beast-hunting; he simply didn’t care about anything beyond that scope.

“I promised your father I would return you unharmed,” said the knight.

Belle sighed. “I know. I understand his worry, but I won’t hurt any creature, however dangerous, if I don’t have to.”

There was a silence, a pause, despite Belle thinking nothing remained to be said. She had made her sentiments clear to Sir Maurice and everyone at the Avonlea court. She took her responsibilities as beast tamer very seriously. That included consideration for the creatures she might not succeed in taming, though she had not met one yet. Among her personal effects on this mission, there was a scroll in her satchel marking off a list of powerful beasts she aimed to bring back to Avonlea to bolster the duchy’s defenses, not to mention their advantage in inter-realm contests. Beast tamers demonstrated their bravery and control over their acquisitions with tricks, duels and challenges to win prizes. Belle’s heart raced just thinking on this year’s Typhon Cup Tamers Tournament. If her efforts met success, she’d have quite the entry. Even if she didn’t win, it would stir up the spectators, among them the most powerful royals in the Enchanted Forest. Her family would be revered again. Everything her mother and so many soldiers had died for would be restored.

The silence did prove to be a pause. Gaston hesitated before ending it. “Is it worth this journey, and the chance of returning to Avonlea empty-handed? If you cannot subdue it, I could—”

“No.” Belle’s blue eyes turned up from the pages. She was small, and her fair face frustrated her lifelong desire to be taken seriously. Her mother’s angry stare had become a part of her little arsenal, equal to a dagger or sword. She wielded it against Gaston. “You can expand your collection of trophies when we’re back home. I doubt the locals here would appreciate an outsider killing and trussing up a creature they’ve deified.”

“Deified? It’s just a monster.”

Gaston owned all the finesse of a sledgehammer. He spoke out of arrogance, but not the braggart sort she’d witnessed among other men of his station: fellow hunters who thought their prizes made them the finest men in the world and that women should swoon over them. Gaston was arrogant without being egotistical to the extreme. It was one of the few things Belle appreciated about him. Of course, it didn’t change her position on their alleged engagement. He also spoke with ignorance he had no wish to rectify. That irritated her more than all the boasts of all Avonlea’s knights and huntsmen put together.

“It’s a beast, not a monster,” she corrected. Her attention returned to her book. “You’d be surprised how intelligent beasts can be.” This one in particular would have Gaston falling over in shock. Actually, the result of a meeting between the two might have dangerous consequences. Belle allowed Gaston to come to give her father peace of mind, but aside from offering companionship and protection at her back from bandits and other wild creatures, he would be no other help in this quest.

Gaston finally let the topic drop, to her relief. Their concerns turned to procuring food before they set out eastward to the desert and the mountains. The diligent knight he was, Gaston accepted the task without complaint, albeit while expressing wariness of the regional cuisine. Belle had read that the best way to eat food in Kemet was while strolling down the streets or near the river bank. Dates, fava beans, pita bread, rice, and some falafel—all this Gaston purchased but sampled in modest morsels. Belle savored the spices that enhanced the flavors. They pricked the taste buds in a new way for someone who had grown up eating snails, squid and frog legs. Different but enjoyable, she declared while Gaston inched away from his portion, insisting he’d had his fill.

The food was good but unfamiliar to their stomachs, so they wisely waited a night. Morning met them with some gastric discomfort, but not enough to dampen Belle’s tenacity. By midday, they were ready to embark, equipped with food. Belle dressed in linen harem pants that covered the tops of her boots, a knee-length tunic over the pants and a hooded cloak over the tunic. For her own safety, a belt held the sheath for a knife. Gaston, a bit ridiculous and yet foolishly reassuring, wore the same velvet jerkin, wool breeches, heavy cape and conspicuous long-sword as if they were back in the Marshlands. Belle let herself grin at the sight. If Gaston noticed, he took it with feigned oblivion.

“Aren’t you hot?” Belle asked as they rode their rented camels. For part of their journey, they would spare their feet the effort of walking on sand that could easily slip into their shoes. No wonder many people in Kemet wore sandals, conceding to nature’s stubbornness.

“I’m fine. I couldn’t stand wearing those clothes.” Gaston nodded at Belle’s outfit. “It’s not appropriate for a knight.”

“Well, don’t let anyone hear you. You know, in ancient times, men of this kingdom wore only skirts.” Belle smiled at the idea. If she were a man, she would've happily worn only a skirt, no blouse or corset to stifle her. “Even the warriors did, and they drove chariots and probably enjoyed a good breeze between the legs.”

She giggled at the appalled glance Gaston sent her way. The picture she painted must have disturbed him into silence. They said not another peep until they began ascending one of the mountains across the desert, leaving sandy dunes for dry dirt and rocks. The camels could handle the terrain so long as the slope remained free of jagged ledges. They were not needed for long, anyway. Belle spied the mountain’s proud face. She pulled out another book from her satchel, consulted it, and snapped it shut with triumph. “There. That’s where the cave is. We’ll go a little further. I want you to stay with the camels when I continue on foot.”

“I will not have you face the beast alone,” Gaston persisted.

“It won’t do a thing except put you in danger. This creature can’t be defeated by muscle. Only wits.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gaston knew only the name and appearance of the creature she was searching for, not its nature. Belle had hoped to keep the important details to herself so she could surprise her father when she returned. He  _would_  be surprised, as this was not like any beast she or another tamer had in their menagerie. And he would be thrilled, and impressed beyond measure to watch his daughter train the creature alongside the family griffins and her personal team of unicorns, harpies, a centaur and a young dragon.

She combed a hand through her camel’s mane in thought. Well, what would it hurt? “A sphinx is impossibly strong, smart, and ravenous. It can devour men in one gulp. But all you have to do to best it is to answer its riddle.”

“A  _riddle_? You have to be joking.” Gaston wasn’t amused.

“Nope. Legend says it will give anyone who crosses its path one chance to best it and survive by asking a difficult riddle. If the person cannot correctly solve it, the sphinx eats them.”

That should've put an end to Gaston’s prying. Her hope was satisfied as they traveled in silence. Their camels climbed the narrowing path up the mountainside. The sun was dropping, turning the sandy plain below them gold and orange. The green banks of the river were turning blue in the encroaching twilight.

It was time to dismount. Belle stopped her camel, hopped down and led it to Gaston, offering him the reins.

“What if you cannot answer the riddle?” Gaston asked.

For once, he made a fair point. “I’ll be fine,” she told him, putting on a brave tone. Then she considered that maybe she should have a backup strategy. The last month she spent reading riddles from every land might not have been enough to prepare her.

“If I do need help, I’ll signal you. Here, give me your hunting horn. I’ll be right up there.” She pointed to where the mountain began to sharpen toward its peak. One side, facing away from the sunset, had more ledges that indicated the presence of a cavern entrance by which creatures could venture into the mountain’s heart. Her bestiary said sphinxes liked higher ground, so the upper ledges were the best place to start looking.

Gaston’s grim expression didn't yield. He nodded, however, handed over the horn and stayed with the camels. He dismounted to give them water and grain.

“I may not find it at all,” Belle added even as she began her climb up a cliff face with enough footholds so that she could reach the next ledge. “I’ll come back in an hour, one way or another.”

Such was her promise, and Belle didn’t take promises lightly. But her stomach bubbled as she scaled the rocks by hand and foot. Red and brown dust flew up into chalky clouds with each step and grasp. Stone sometimes shed shards under her grip, testing her resolve. Belle was making her way up without too much difficulty, but with some coughing and the sensation of Gaston’s eyes on her, even when she shuffled sideways to where protrusions offered more rock to grab or step on. Her fingers started sweating. She quickly wiped them on her tunic, all while ignoring her fluttering pulse at the chance that she might slip. Sweat bedewed on her forehead, too. That went ignored until she met the landing with a final hoist and a groan. Not very dignified how she hastily rolled away from the edge, especially now that her clothes were a rusty color from the dirt. Her appearance didn’t diminish this small success. She made it to her feet and brushed herself as best she could before peeking over the ledge. With a smile, she waved to Gaston several feet below. Her hand checked that his hunting horn was still slung to her belt, next to the dagger.

The satchel with her books had shifted around so that it hung across her back. It was light enough; whatever the burden, she would gladly suffer to have these precious resources at hand. They had helped her time and again. Without them, she wouldn't have known that centaurs had a weakness for grapes, especially in wine form, or that dragons could be appeased with harps and jewelry, or that water inhibited harpies. Some things Belle did learn from experience instead of reading, as happened with her dragon who was not so taken by music or riches. The creature had fled other tamers into the forest near Avonlea, where Belle found it swimming in a pond. She worked to win its trust over the course of two weeks. Having deduced that it was a water dragon, she thought he might like fish. The dragon turned his nose from all freshwater food. So she procured an assortment of ocean fish and shellfish. Only when she showed the dragon some cooked octopus tentacles did he roll over in a pleading pose. Since then, Sucker had become her most loyal trainee.

Maybe she still trusted in her books too much. Who could blame her? As with the horn, her hand reached for the bag, just to be sure nothing had fallen out. The frantic beating in her chest did not slow. Belle coughed again, but quieter. She faced a part of the mountain that cleaved on the shadowed side, opening into a narrow V-shaped passage. Belle’s small stature was useful in this case. She was delighted. If only that gave her a bit more courage.

The soles of her boots gently crushed tiny grains of dirt and disintegrated stone. Step by step, she moved to the crevice. As she progressed through it, climbing up and then descending a few uneven steps, a definite drop in temperature occurred. Maybe it was her nerves faltering, or the invading nighttime chill. Belle shivered. Once she was on flat ground again, so to speak, she grabbed the satchel and rustled through it. Books were the only friends who could help her now. Books would arm her, shield her, help her believe she was truly prepared for this when her shaking knees and her father’s voice in her head screamed the opposite.

The fading light challenged her eyes. Belle moved the pages of her book on Kemet’s geography into the sunset’s glow. An illustration showed how the mountain was partially cracked on the eastern side, caused by natural events. It allowed the formation of caverns and tunnels. One cave was said to be home to the sphinx, very likely the last of its kind in this land. Any human who had ventured to find it had never returned.

“If that’s so,” Belle muttered to herself, “then there must be—”

“Getting warmer, dearie.”

No one can make a startled shriek dignified—not without conscious effort. And if anyone is of a mind to make a conscious effort, they’re likely not startled enough to shriek.

Had Belle been allowed to choose her instinctual reaction, she would have risked the destruction of her book to hurl it at the culprit of her abrupt fright. As it was, her first action was to crush the book against her chest, either to protect it or herself. The truth would probably have embarrassed her beyond what she was already feeling.

The sight of the offender did nothing to ameliorate her distress. Shock and outrage joined the throng of emotions. And yet she couldn’t say his presence entirely surprised her. Judging by where he was, leaning against a rock wall that a moment ago had been unoccupied, his leather coat, waistcoat and trousers spotless, and his silky hair muss-free, Belle was sure he’d come up here using magic. That she could believe. He was notorious among beast tamers for using what some considered an unfair advantage. Belle momentarily sided with them after the pains she had endured to get up here the ordinary way.

Emotions were like beasts, she reminded herself. She needed to clear her head and rope them in with her wits. Her face regained color, almost too much, while she closed the book soundly so that its clap carried. “What are you doing here?” she said with what poise she could muster.

The man, short but still exceeding her height and, for his otherwise normal appearance, oddly reminiscent of a lizard basking on a favorite sleeping spot, smirked at her. “Not enjoying the mountain air, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Belle sighed angrily. “I hope you haven’t been  _following_  me. I might get the wrong idea about your intentions.”

He gently laughed and pushed off the rock. Belle couldn’t help but glance up and down, noting the pointed shoes he wore that were not at all appropriate for mountain climbing. Not that she was the model of practicality, but her clothing suited the climate. Even Gaston would have been alarmed by how much leather this man wore. “Well, you can’t be here to do serious exploring. You’d need to change your boots.”

“I have other means of getting around,” the man answered nonchalantly.

“Some would call that cheating.”

“I don’t see any referees here.” He walked toward her with that irritating swagger. It shouldn’t have made her heartbeat spike. “This isn’t a competition, my dear Belle. Just two tamers looking to add to their collection.”

“So you  _are_  looking for the sphinx.” Belle mentally cursed herself. She was smarter than this, but her mouth could be as reckless as her harpies.

The man narrowed his gaze. His grin softened. “Am I? Well, if you say I am, I must be. Belle of Avonlea is rarely wrong.”

There was no other recourse but to roll her eyes. “And Rumplestiltskin of the Frontlands is rarely willing to let another tamer claim his quarry.”

He shrugged, and his smile went lopsided. It should not have been both annoying and attractive. “Nature of the trade, I’m afraid. I wouldn’t be much of a tamer if I let everyone else take the best specimens.”

“What could you want with a sphinx? I thought you preferred reptiles. Or are they too easy for you now?”

“I like a challenge now and then.”

Belle saw heat touch his eyes, and it occurred to her that he wasn’t just talking about beasts. There again went her pulse. No, she wouldn’t be distracted. Rumplestiltskin was just playing with her, like he did with everyone. His skill in magic served as just one reason tamers globally disliked him. He had a special talent for communicating with reptilian creatures, including dragons and nagas. Very few people could do that. It was more common to meet a tamer who could understand birds or canines. Old legends labeled telereptilarians as inherently dangerous and untrustworthy, maybe due to an alleged unholy ancestry. Some rumors claimed that Rumplestiltskin was part reptile—that his human skin was a glamour, and he was known to consume the hearts of fair maidens and skin children for pelts. Whether or not these tales owned any truth, the man in question had done nothing to discredit them. They amused him, she thought. In fact his costume, especially the scaly coat with the high, spiny collar, might've been inspired by the stories and served to fuel them further.

She hadn’t decided just how human or inhuman Rumplestiltskin was. They’d met a handful of times, none flattering to her perception of him.

“Then I hope this adventure doesn’t disappoint you.” Belle secured her book under her arm and moved to walk past him. Unfortunately, her first step was not well calculated. It hit a spot where the rock was uneven. She stumbled. As she twisted to regain her balance, a hand slipped under her elbow and pulled it against a firm chest.

Her head automatically turned to Rumplestiltskin. She could see half of his mouth—his lips were parted, unsmiling—and one wide-open brown eye and furrowed eyebrow. They were close enough that if she leaned back, their noses would have touched. Heat worse than that of a desert plain rushed up her neck and ears.

Embarrassment, she told herself. That’s all there was behind the burning in her skin. He'd been waiting for her clumsiness to kick in. He remembered their first duel, her griffin verses his hydra, which ended with one of the griffin’s wings broken and the hydra losing three heads and growing back six. Much as she grieved for her pet’s injuries, it was what happened at the duel’s end that left a mortifying sting to the memory. Belle had called her griffin back once it could no longer fly, and indeed was losing blood from many bites the hydra had inflicted. Come back it did, trying to hurry its retreat with uneven flapping. It quickly lost control of its speed. Belle had only meant to move backward to give it room to land. In front of Rumplestiltskin, her father and hundreds of spectators, the young tamer took a false step, felt her ankle give, and tumbled down, shortly followed by her griffin nearly landing on top of her. Some people gasped in horror or simple surprise; an undercurrent of laughter did not miss her ears.

She expected mockery or false chivalry from Rumplestiltskin now, as she had expected from him should she have let the man approach her after the incident. She hadn’t, obviously. The next time they met, at her father’s court with him looking to purchase some of the griffins, he was armed with a remark about how the creatures might show more potential in the hands of someone who doesn’t stumble over their own feet. She had come very close to punching him that time. Instead, she coyly proffered something even better than griffins. Rumple took the bait. Belle led him down to the castle’s underground lake, where awaited a water dragon who, at a few whistled notes, poked his head out of the water. The meeting gave Belle a glimpse at Rumple’s peculiar ability. It was a conversation of grunts and long stares, which came to an end when Sucker lunged up and bit Rumple’s hand. Compared to most dragons, it was a baby nibble, and Rumple healed it in seconds, but not before flailing and cursing from the pain. Belle shrugged and said the deal was off, since Sucker was so unwilling to take on a new master.

It wasn’t their last encounter before now. Probably for the better. That fact didn’t change Belle’s apprehension in being taken by the arm. He should have let her trip. Or he had a worse humiliation ready to tear her down.

Nothing came. The wordless moment brimmed with only stilted breathing. His grip was tight, but the mild pain it caused faded into discomfort more to do with proximity than pressure. Belle thought she could feel Rumple’s slightly accelerated heartbeat even though his dragonhide vest.

“Umm,” was all she could get herself to say.

It was enough. His fingers instantly opened. He even hopped back, aware that he might receive a deserved slap. The offending, or helping, hand fluttered before dropping to his side.

“Yes, well …” Rumplestiltskin cleared his throat. The apparent awkwardness should have soothed Belle’s nerves. Oddly, it only encouraged them to keep buzzing like agitated bees. She held very still lest her riled nerves made her forget her balance again.

Rumple finally continued: “Well, I think since we’re both here, it’s only fair that we have an equal shot at getting what we want.”

Good thing Belle was standing as stiff as a wooden block; that statement would have bowled her over. “You’re … not serious, are you?”

Rumplestiltskin spread his hands. “Why not?”

“Because you never play fair.” She bit her lip hard for that. For the gods’ sake, why did this man’s presence provoke her worst impulses? A noblewoman like her was drilled from childhood on social etiquette, and the possible global consequences rudeness could call down. However this man treated her, it did no good to sink to his level.

Was rudeness not justified, though, if it also spoke truth?

“That’s not true.” Rumple was miffed but not outraged. “I am a man of my word—”

“Which you twist at every chance you get.” No point putting sugar on it now.

He hesitated, then raised his shoulders. “Well, what can you do?”

“How about real honesty for once?” Belle swallowed down her silly nerves and naïve fears of being rude to such a man and moved into his personal space. “For instance, how did you know about the sphinx? Am I to believe that you just  _happen_  to be looking for it the same time I am?”

One side of his mouth curled up. He snorted. “Of course not.”

Belle had to shut her eyes and keep those urges to throttle him on their leashes. “Then how did you know?”

“A friend procured a crystal ball for me sometime ago. I peek into it now and then to see what y—other tamers are up to.”

Her gaze snapped up once more to his. A little twitch around his nose betrayed a crack in his overconfident façade. Belle didn’t want to guess what he might've not said. That inexplicable heat might come rushing up her chest like before.

“I guess there’s nothing left to do,” she said, “except let you have your shot. But do you know anything about sphinxes?”

“My dear Belle.” The man cocked his head. That twitch she’d caught a moment ago was long gone. “Don’t think I don’t understand the value of research! I always study the creatures I’m dealing with before I face them.”

That might explain the crystal ball and why he liked using it to spy on people. And, truth be told, it was smart. She might well do the same if she had her own magic ball or looking-glass. Belle let herself relax a notch. “Fine. Then we might as well go together. The cave can’t be far.”

The impish man looked so pleased with himself, now smiling like a crocodile. Belle reconsidered the offer and instead wondered how much effort it would take to shove him off a ledge. Her size and his magic stacked the odds against her. Ah well. This could turn out to be serendipitous; if neither she nor Rumple could answer the sphinx’s riddle, it might go for the larger prey first, buying her time to run.

Once he was finished looking gleefully smug, Rumplestiltskin slid sideways and gestured for Belle to pass him. A second spared to think this arrangement through warned her against going first. He might do what she wanted to do to him, then take her books and find the sphinx on his own. The fresh memory of how he caught her charged through her mind. She rode on the breaker of inspiration. Her hand snagged his upper arm right above the elbow and all but dragged him with her. His surprise was apparent in the first few fumbling steps. Her own surprise was not as strong as the peace of mind his nonverbal acquiescence brought.

Being locked arm-in-arm grew more cumbersome as the mountain’s features grew steeper and more unpredictable to their footing. At one point Belle dared to slip her hand down his forearm until, without really thinking it through, her fingers locked with his. Not a word was spoken by either of them, maybe in the hope that they could pretend it hadn’t happened once they overcame this section of jutting rock. It sometimes demanded use of their free hands to proceed up the acute steps. Disquieting as it was to rock climb hand-in-hand with a rival, Belle didn’t hate it. His palm and fingers were bigger than hers, more suited to a peasant than a sorcerer in her estimation. She could feel callouses on his fingertips—from training his beasts? From making potions and writing down new spells? The skin was thickest on his thumb and forefinger.

She was almost proud at how she repressed the questions pushing to be spoken. Now was not the time. If they survived this and somehow came out disliking each other less, she’d ask how his hands became this way.

Another half an hour must have wormed by them before they made it up and around the mountain to another wide ledge. Belle glimpsed a deep shadow along the mountain wall. Caught up in sudden elation, she thoughtlessly tugged Rumple’s arm hard. “There it is!” she squeaked.

There it was, indeed. The cave was just as she imagined it, and quite close to how it was drawn in the book. Which again brought to mind what she had been wondering earlier: if no one had ever returned, why hadn’t she seen—

“Watch it!” Rumplestiltskin seized his chance to yank Belle around, this time to prevent her feet from stepping down what she first took to be a round smooth rock. With a second glance and steady feet (and momentary assistance from Rumple’s shoulders), Belle could clearly observe the orifices in the so-called rock and the rows of teeth it owned, not to mention the fragmented, calcified debris surrounding it. The rock was a skull buried in bones.

Further study of the immediate environment turned up several buried and crushed skulls and bones shards. It was a graveyard.

“This has to be it,” Belle whispered. She went back to gripping Rumple’s arm.

“Perhaps you’d better leave this to me.” He sounded wholly serious, even void of condescension.

Belle still glared at him. “Why? You think some bones scare me? I knew the risk in finding the sphinx!”

Rumple’s returning glare was partly angry, partly something else. Fear? If he feared for his life, he wouldn’t still be here. For her? He could only gain from her death. Maybe he was worried she’d get in his way and cost them both their lives. Well, he was the tag-along here, like Gaston, except worse by intruding on her quest and threatening to steal away her hopes.

If he wanted to say something, he lost his chance. A thunderous growl rolled out of the gloomy cave entrance. Its inside walls disappeared in blackness. Only after a long painful moment of waiting, and of Belle holding Rumple’s wrist, did a shape emerge from the dark. Belle gasped, frightened and excited.

Proud paws, tawny and furry, padded mutely on the ground as the creature came into the dwindling light. Its head lifted into view. A golden mane circled it and partially covered its shoulders. As Belle’s book said, its body from the mane to the tip of its flicking tufted tail resembled a lion, only bigger. One key difference rested in the pair of wings folded against its sides; the feathers matched the honey-gold hide. The other difference was the face staring at them with hunger, annoyance and haughtiness. It was not a lion’s face, but a human woman’s. She had dark brown skin, black irises, and a wide mouth that both Belle and Rumple watched stretch into a snarl, revealing big sharp teeth.

Belle couldn’t say which was more worrisome: the snarl, or the sardonic grin that followed.

“My, my,” the beast rumbled. “Two in one? Hasn’t happened in a long time.”

As though receiving a cue, Rumplestiltskin straightened from his hunched pose. His hands liked to wave or dance around while he spoke. “We thought you could use the company. Looks like you haven’t had a visitor in a while.”

“I suppose the bones gave me away,” the sphinx said.

Rumple giggled. Belle watched him in growing astonishment. Half a minute ago she could feel him trembling through his coat sleeve. Now he acted like—well, like he was in the arena again conducting his dragons or serpents through a sequence of fantastic tricks. That he could snap into the role so readily was rather impressive. It also had Belle wondering just who the real Rumplestiltskin was.

Another question that could wait, she reminded herself.

“How thoughtful,” the sphinx purred, a sound that blended menace with pleasure. “But I quite like my solitude. I’m not much of a host.” She started leaning back on her haunches and raising her flanks, the signs of a large cat preparing to pounce.

“W-wait!” Belle moved in front of Rumple. “I-is it not customary to give your visitors a final courtesy? I mean, if we can answer your riddle—”

The sphinx relaxed. A twinkle entered her eyes. “I suppose you’re right. You know, the last few times some fools came up here, they didn’t bother to ask for the riddle. They thought force would be enough.” She snickered and glanced at what had to be the remains of those unfortunate hunters.

“As we are two,” Rumple interjected, shifting so he wasn’t blocked by Belle, “how about best out of three riddles?”

The creature’s head whipped back to them. Her ears flattened. An irritated snort made both tamers flinch. “What makes you think you can answer just the one? I could kill you both now and spare myself any more of your impertinence.”

“It is not impertinence, great sphinx,” Belle said. She bowed. “If we cannot guess your first riddle, do as you wish with us. But … would it not be entertaining for you, after such a long time alone, to watch two silly mortals try outwitting each other?”

Rumple inched toward her ear. “That’s not what—”

She elbowed him in the side. He grunted and took the hint.

The tip of the sphinx’s tail flicked back and forth. A sign of interest in cat language. She maintained a neutral expression when she sat down. “Very well. Best out of three. It will work up my appetite.”

It abruptly became a return to the arena again for another duel. Rumplestiltskin walked a few steps away from Belle so that they formed a triangle before the sphinx’s cave. Belle hadn’t realized just how fervently she’d been holding his wrist until he moved away and made it necessary to relinquish it. A little worried the sphinx might get the wrong idea (like it really mattered what this ancient creature thought of the relationship between two mortals she intended to eat), she busied her hands with patting down her tunic and checking that the belt and its components were present. She only grazed over the dagger and promptly relaxed her arms. The sphinx could have swatted Gaston’s long sword out of his hands. Her knife would have done nothing.

“Let’s get this over with,” the beast said. She inhaled deeply with eyes closed and held the breath, as if waiting for some invisible presence to whisper the riddle to her. When her eyes opened, a yellow flash lit up her irises.

“ _What breaks yet still works, can be stolen when touched, and when lost, nothing matters?_ ”

Belle was tempted to go into her satchel and check the book of riddles. No memory of a similar riddle came to her. Come on, it couldn’t be that difficult! If she gave herself a minute, the pieces of the question would come together. She started with the first part. Her mind looped through things that could metaphorically break: trust, a promise, someone’s spirit, somone’s—

“The heart!” Rumplestiltskin declared.

What? He got it so quickly! But maybe he was wrong. Belle looked to the sphinx.

“That’s correct.” The sphinx’s tail wagged more wildly, speaking its displeasure.

“You did say best out of three,” Belle said. What a weak-headed fool she had to be to fall back on her competitor’s safety net. In the time spent preparing for this quest, she had not expected it to be a  _race_ with anyone.

“Don’t start pissing yourself just yet,” the sphinx said.

Rumple gave a muted but squeaky giggle. Belle clenched her hands. It wasn’t bad enough she was putting her life in jeopardy, but she had to endure taunts, too, from man and beast alike.

The sphinx sank into her meditative mode again, then returned with another flashing glare. “ _What is it that all creatures fight, but has no teeth or claws, and kills in silence?_ ”

Belle snuck a glance at Rumple. She needed to see him stumped for at least a moment. It was selfish, and unnecessary. Her intelligence did not depend on the slower wits of others. Still, whatever it said about her own character, watching her opponent struggle might give her confidence a small boost.

Oh, it did. And perhaps it wasn’t just for renewed confidence she enjoyed watching Rumple’s face tighten with concentration, then consternation. The mask of his showmanship peeled back, especially from his eyes. The orbs flitted about and angled toward the ground.

She did feel the tiniest morsel of sympathy for him. Or maybe empathy, since she occupied the same treacherous boat.

Just as Belle’s brain turned to likewise rankle with the riddle, her stomach clenched and grumbled. Nearly dinner time. Well, somebody would no doubt get a meal soon—

Belle gasped. “Hunger! It’s hunger.”

“What?” Rumple cried. “That can’t be—” He looked to the sphinx. “She’s not right, is she?”

“Do  _you_  have a guess?” The sphinx arched one brow.

“T—time.” Rumple let out a captive puff of air at the same time.

“Wrong,” said the sphinx.

Belle shuddered. “Who is wrong? Both of us?”

The sphinx stared at Rumplelstiltskin. “Wrong.” Her stare turned to Belle. “And sadly … right.”

Belle didn’t care how juvenile it looked. She blurted out a victorious “yes!” while pumping her fists and bouncing on her feet.

“That makes us tied, dearie,” Rumple said. She could hear the eye-roll in his tone.

She was just glad she wasn’t staring into the mighty jowls of the sphinx yet. And that her mind wasn’t a waste of grey matter.

“All right, this one should get you.” The sphinx wriggled on her haunches, looking more eager to give up on this game and take what she wanted. Sphinxes were mysterious beasts, bound by very old magic that forbade them from breaking their own rules. This creature had to see this arrangement through, no matter how much her empty belly ached for satisfaction. Hunger as the silent killer, indeed, although Belle wasn’t sure sphinxes could die from starvation.

The sphinx did not shut her eyes this time. They flashed yellow and burned a second longer. “ _What do men love more than life and fear more than death, what the poor have and the rich need, and what everyone carries to their graves?_ ”

A list of things men might love more than life rushed through Belle’s head: love, honor, faith, legacy. But what of those did men fear more than death? Or that the poor lacked and the rich needed? Her thoughts turned round and round like on a carousel until she was dizzy with thinking. Going by the silence beside her, Rumple was having no more luck. Minutes multiplied. Her eyes fixed on the thumping tail of the sphinx. The more time passed, the weaker the restraints on the sphinx’s predatory instincts. Belle had not found in her studies just how much time a person had to answer the riddle. Maybe they could negotiate an escape with a promise to return with the riddle’s answer another day. But she was quite sure the sphinx had no obligation to such a request, and thus would be free from the deal. Their escape would be  _very_  short-lived.

Besides, the point of this quest wasn’t to escape with her life without the creature in tow.

She breathed in, then out, then continued with semi-conscious effort while revisiting the riddle segment by segment.

Love more than life …

Fear more than death …

What the poor have … what the rich need …

What people take to their graves … but what do they take? No one can really take anything—

Air and blood rushed together through her body. Epiphany struck again.

“Nothing!” she declared.

Belatedly, she realized that Rumple said the same thing at the same time.

They looked at each other and found mirror-images of elation, relief, disbelief. She saw a minute upward tug at the edge of Rumple’s mouth. She felt the same pull at the corner of hers.

The sphinx’s growl intruded. The two tamers looked her way, still slightly breathless.

“ _Correct_.” Her terse reply echoed across the rocks and sent a brief tremor through them.

That was three riddles. Belle and Rumplestiltskin were still tied. “Another riddle, then?” Rumple suggested, returning to his cocky manners. Belle wanted to think she disliked him as much now as then. Nothing had changed, except they proved well-matched in solving riddles. Yet that tugging at her mouth that wanted to be a smile didn’t go away.

“Last one.” For the first time, the sphinx opened it wings. The feathers shimmered. The movement stirred the air so that Belle’s hood almost flew back. Rumplestiltskin put up an arm to block the breeze, but his silky hair still buffeted back over his silver-tinged temples.

The sphinx’s voice was like thunder now. “ _What always eats but cannot drink, and whose offspring always leaves and never returns?_ ”

Her wings flapped hard, firing another gale at them like a cannon ball. Some dust flew up, too, and distracted Belle with a short coughing fit. She wiped her watering eyes. Her stomach groaned. Her tongue was dry. She couldn’t think of anything that didn’t both eat and drink. A fish? No, they drank all the time.

Again the wheels turned over to crank out an acceptable answer. Could it be time, like Rumple had guessed for the second riddle? Were its offspring the minutes and seconds and hours that flew away and never came back? She very nearly jumped on the answer. It didn’t sit right with her, though. Time doesn’t really  _eat_ , even in the metaphorical sense. She learned a riddle once that had time as the answer, and there might have been mention of it devouring all things, but it did other stuff, too. Slayed kings, wore down mountains. The answer to this riddle had to be something more limited in its abilities, be it creature or thing.

Nothing else Belle grasped for fit the question. Every moment slipping away lured panic into rising a little higher in her chest. By now, with the minutes mounting up and the sphinx’s countenance darkening with hunger and impatience, she would have been glad to hear Rumple provide an answer. She looked at him, only to find him looking back with the same sentiment that his tense expression couldn’t hide.

“Not an inkling?” There was a giddy purr from the beast staring them down.

“Just another moment.” Rumple raised his hand.

“You’ve have plenty of time. Either guess or give yourselves up.”

“Time?” Belle let her mouth have its say. What more could they lose?

The sphinx smiled. Daggers of yellowed bone greeted her. “Afraid not.”

Beast and tamer looked at Rumplestiltskin. His hand was still raised. He inched half a step back. Belle’s breath snagged. She’d never seen him so afraid or vulnerable. Even with her own neck on the line, and terrified that he had no way to save it, she felt sorry for him. He walked into this as doomed as she.

“Time isn’t the answer.” The sphinx licked her chops. “But time  _is_  up.”

“No, wait!” A frightened smile overtook his face. “Let’s not be hasty. Maybe a hint—”

“Not how this works,  _dearie_.” Teeth bared, the sphinx rolled onto her haunches, then leapt for Rumplestiltskin.

Belle hadn’t meant to do anything brave right then. Yes, she had lived her life trying to be brave, to be the person she’d read of in her books—heroes who saved people, loved ones and strangers alike, and embodied goodness that so often was lacking in the world. But for Belle, heroics required choice. So was it not heroics, but something else, that sent her running  _toward_  Rumplestiltskin? The impulse came from her gut rather than her head. With no time to think it through or question anything, she sprinted to him with arms outstretched.

She managed to knock into him, but not knock him down. Just half a second before contact, a blast of light jumped from Rumple’s hand and hit the sphinx in the face. The impassioned collision (on Belle’s end) did not throw off his aim. His arm stayed remarkable still while the rest of him accepted the impact of her body meeting his.

It all happened so quickly, as if time skipped and missed a few seconds. One moment Belle was grabbing for Rumple’s shoulder and feeling her chest slam into his arm. The next she was whirled around; Rumple had her by both shoulders to keep her from falling.

“What the hell are you doing?” he yelled.

Belle blinked. Her fingers clenched into his leather coat sleeves. “I—what happened?”

Rumple huffed and pulled her upright. Her feet found purchase. Now she could look about and see the sphinx before them, stuck in mid-lunge. A film of blue light engulfed her.

“W-what did you do?” Belle’s voice quaked.

“What do you think? I saved our lives!”

Belle studied the sphinx again. Then she swung around and smacked his shoulder. “That’s cheating!”

Rumple gawked. “ _Cheating_? Well, maybe you’d rather be the sphinx’s supper! If so, I will happily oblige!”

“If you planned to use magic from the start, why bother with answering the riddles? What on earth could you gain?”

“I … well, why not? Worth a try, wasn’t it?”

The dismissive tenor was a slap. As it sank in, a little revelation dawned, Belle became truly appalled. “You—you were showing off!  _That’s_  what this was about! You just couldn’t stand that I was going to attempt something no other tamer would dare to do, and you—you had to butt in to show me up! Because, what, I’m younger? A woman? Less experienced? You get a kick out of belittling your competition when you don’t even have the courage to take on a sphinx fair and square!”

Strong fingers had her by the arm. His teeth were shiny with saliva. One gold tooth winked in the gloom. “ _Fair_  and _square_  is what gets you killed, you stupid girl!”

“This isn’t about self-preservation, Rumplestiltskin. This is about rigging the game, winning at all costs. Having so little self-respect that being a cowardly little man who hides behind magic is all you can aspire to be.”

Rumple flinched, or maybe winced. It was so fleeting it barely registered. If she struck something in him, he was fast to hide it behind a threatening grimace. His voice grew raspier. “I’d rather be a coward than a dead man.”

Belle couldn’t explain the sting at the back of her eyes. “Then I feel sorry for you.”

“You’re  _both_ idiots.”

The heat and fury building between them evaporated from the shock of hearing the frozen sphinx’s voice. A terrible chill overwhelmed Bell on seeing that the beast was wiggling her head back and forth, like she was trying to worm out of the magical cocoon Rumple had trapped her in.

Rumple stepped back, bringing Belle with him. “That’s not possible!”

“Like I said: idiots.” The sphinx sounded a growl. The ground began vibrating. The blue glow trembled, too, and brightened to a searing white glare. The growl swelled more and more until it was forced from her throat in a bone-shaking roar. The white light severed apart. She was set free.

Belle whirled around, crouched and covered her head. She wobbled on her feet from what felt like a small earthquake. When Rumple’s hands caught her again, she was too frightened to think or move. A purple cloud came from nowhere and blocked out what little she could see from her position.

She stood up after the cloud disappeared and heard only the desolate wind over the desert. What she saw matched the sounds. The sandy valley had adopted an ash color. In the distance, lights from the homesteads along the river shined like yellow stars that promised to guide her to safety. It was polar opposite to the Enchanted Forest; there, trees obscured the sky, but there was an intimacy with the environment from how plants grew together and animals could make homes under roots, in trunks or up in the leafy branches. Here, nothing but sand until the river. Even that seemed void of protection.

She was alone. Alone with Rumplestiltskin. Her body churned with adrenaline and blood and sweat, and clung to him in the aftermath of their escape. He was still holding her. She felt his breath on her cheek while she stared across the flat landscape. She ought to tell him to let her go. He did save her, but she wasn’t about to faint in his arms. Hopefully.

The mistake was facing him so soon, with everything in her in a tumult, like she’d endured a near-death experience. Well, she had, in a way. That could explain why the thumping in her chest intensified upon meeting his gaze straight-on. His breath now tickled her nose. It was like when he caught her elbow: no show, no mask, no wall to hide behind. He really was a small man in spirit. Fear haunted his eyes, his creased forehead, and the slack mouth that focused solely on catching his breath. She could see the coward, but it was hard to find the cruel man from above when he continued cupping her shoulders. His hands ventured nowhere else. He might have believed she was too poorly coordinated to be left to stand on her own after what happened. But it wasn’t mere condescension. He was searching with his gaze up and down her body with an urgency that told her something important. He was checking if she was hurt.

“I-I’m all right,” she said.

His chest buoyed with an abrupt breath. On the exhale, his hands left her. He momentarily choked around the words trying to escape his throat.

“I—I see that. Yes.” The fingers of his right hand flicked against each other.

Damn her curiosity, but it washed over Belle and tried to pull her toward the object of her rapt attention. What a strange man. What made him so afraid? Did  _she_  frighten him? Was it women in general? Yet he had saved her, which a decent person should, but so shortly after their bitter argument—it was all very odd. Intriguing, too.

She really was an idiot, like the sphinx said.

A bombastic roar rolled down the mountain. They were at the base, home-free to escape across the plain. But they had no transportation. No camels.

The camels! Gaston!

Belle seized Rumple’s lapels. “Take me back up!”

“What? Are you  _insane_?”

“Gaston is up there! I can’t leave without him.”

A dark mood clouded those soft, frightful eyes she found herself wanting to explore more deeply. His mouth hardened in a frown. “Oh, I see. Your beloved came, too? But he stayed behind while you went alone. And  _I’m_  the coward.”

Belle slapped his chest. “No. I told him to stay behind. He’s my escort. And he’s an idiot who’s about to get himself killed!”

The old Rumple with his smirks and snickers returned. “We can hardly be blamed for that. The world could do with one less idiot.”

“You take me up to him  _now!_  I won’t have him die on my account! Do it! Please!”

She was practically shaking him, though to little effectiveness. He could have shoved her off and be done with this whole ordeal. She was expecting it, honestly.

Rumplestiltskin wrinkled his nose in clear disgust and waved his hand.

The magic came and went. Again they were on elevated ground, though not quite as high as before. Just as the purple vapor cleared, Belle spotted Gaston before her with sword drawn and head turned upward.

“Gaston, no!” she cried.

He pivoted around. His astounded expression to see his lady on the same ledge, unharmed, and also in another man’s company, was almost funny. Only terror occupied her thoughts when she saw and heard the plunging shape of the sphinx. Her wings slowed her descent enough that she landed with a hardy but deliberate  _thud_  behind Gaston. The knight whipped toward her. Metal cut the air with a clean  _zing._ The beast roared in the same moment his incensed cry resounded.

Gaston, that fool!

“Stop him!” Belle pleaded with Rumple. “Save him, please! Do something!”

One swing of the sphinx’s paw knocked the sword out of Gaston’s firm grip. Gaston came out with an improvised kick that found her lower jaw. This only fueled her hungry rage. He went for another kick. This one she caught by the teeth with lightning dexterity. She bit down. Gaston cried out but went all in to grab the beast’s mane and land several hard punches to her snout.

“He seems to be doing okay,” Rumple said.

“He’s  _bleeding_!” Belle yelled. “And he’s trapped!”

Right then, the sphinx threw down Gaston, ripping his leg apart. He hit the ground hard. By the lack of movement from him, he was either in too much agony to fight or wholly unconscious.

Belle squeezed Rumple’s arm. “Now!”

Rumple nodded. The hand not being restrained by Belle opened. A fireball surged to life. “Try overpowering this,” he hissed with a glee Belle couldn’t begrudge him.

A flick of his wrist send the ball flying right for the sphinx’s head. It hit her mane and burst into ravenous flames. A roar wrapped around a woman’s scream nearly shattered their eardrums. The creature tossed her head back and forth in hopes of shaking off what ignited her beautiful fur. It encouraged the fire to spread all around her head, except for her face.

Belle ran to Gaston. She called his name and rolled him over. He groaned as she did. Thank the gods. But the leg the sphinx had chomped on was severed off, and the stump was gushing blood. His other leg looked unnaturally twisted. The sight tested her stomach.

“Rumple, please help! He’ll bleed to death!”

Against her fear that the tamer had already vanished to spare himself further trouble, Rumplestiltskin hurried in beside her and assessed the damage. A handwave closed the hemorrhaging stump.

“Can you find the other half of his leg?” he asked too casually for her taste.

She had time to neither look nor think much on the prospect of finding her escort’s missing lower leg. Her attention was immediately drawn to the fiery body looming over her. The sphinx’s face remained spared of the flames. She was smiling. No,  _laughing_ , albeit quietly so that Belle had not noticed before now.

“You should have done more research,” she said. “A sphinx cannot be killed by another being. Only I can incur my own demise.”

“You can't be serious,” Rumple said, also staring up at this most unfortunate discovery.

Belle had wondered why sphinxes were not more widely hunted. Now there was some sense to it. That fireball made her all the more formidable. The blazing mane reminded Belle of the Yaoguai she had set out to stop from tormenting a village (turned out it wasn’t a real beast but an enchanted prince—a loss, but not an unhappy one). There would be no simple spell to break this foe. Not unless she could answer that confounding riddle.

The fire spread down the sphinx’s shoulder, setting alight the top edges of both spread wings. The wings beat the air into a whirlwind of sparks and smoke. Belle shut her eyes and coughed, almost gagging.

“The gallant knight can wait. We need to settle our deal first.” The sphinx’s jaws opened far wider than should have been possible for a human face. The gaping jaws reached for Belle.

Another fireball hurtled into the advancing mouth. Another screaming roar assaulted them. The sphinx reared back. Belle, knowing the source of her second salvation, crawled over to Rumplestiltskin. They couldn’t kill the beast, but they could briefly harm it.

“Let’s go,” Rumple said. He had taken hold of Gaston’s arm and was reaching for Belle’s. She understood what he planned.

“No. Running will do nothing. She’ll track us across the realms. Seriously, did you read  _anything_  about sphinxes?”

“ _You’re_  the bookworm!”

Belle frantically waved away this new argument. The only way out was to answer the riddle. Yet she couldn’t help saying, “You didn’t think bringing one of your dragons would be a good idea?”

Rumple harrumphed. “You didn’t, either. Might’ve done some good to have a water dragon now.”

The man was making jokes at a time like this! Well, he couldn’t fool her, not in light of how his hand trembled as it moved up her arm for a better grip.

Her mind escaped this disaster of a quest at the mention of her dear Sucker. He had become mopey on learning she was going to be away for a week to find the sphinx. But what good would it have done to bring him? There weren’t any streams on this mountain.

The visual entered her head. Something deep in her mind, maybe hidden wisdom or the sheer chance of association, linked together Sucker swimming in his pool and the sphinx on fire, smoke emanating from its flesh up into the now twinkling night sky.

Oh. OH.

The sphinx was coming back around. Her teeth were glowing from the tongues of fire forming a ring around her visage. Before Belle could speak, Rumple pelted another fireball, this time between the eyes. The sphinx roared and shook her head.

“Rumple!” Belle grabbed his arm. “I know the answer! It’s fire! The thing that always eats but cannot drink! And the offspring—it’s the smoke! It always leaves and never returns!”

Rumple had no words, only a gobsmacked look that had Belle laughing, though that might have stemmed from her own triumph. She turned to the sphinx. Laughter turned to panic. The sphinx apparently changed its mind about finishing off Belle and Rumple first. She snatched up the foot of Gaston’s still attached leg and dragged it toward herself.

“Stop!” Belle jumped to her feet. “Leave him alone! I know the—”

The sphinx dropped the foot and roared at her. Belle stumbled back. The beast went for Gaston’s leg again. Belle rushed forward as the sphinx turned. The bony limb within the burning wing collided with Belle’s skull. Heat and pain were the last she was aware of before everything was lost.

* * *

It felt like swimming through darkness, so deep and endless and impossible to navigate. Somehow Belle found the light beyond the dark. Her eyes opened to sandstone walls lit by torches. Going by the torches and the general quiet outside the room—her rented room in the city—it had to be nighttime.

These things held her attention only until a face leaned over her. It came into focus. In the same moment, a finger gingerly traced a line over her forehead and temple.

She needed a few seconds to place the pointed noise and the curtain of soft brown hair with a hint of grey. The wide brown eyes were the first giveaway.

“Rumple? Wha—what’s going on?”

He sighed. His face was scrunched with what had to be worry, but it went lax. The lines in his forehead and next to his eyes smoothed a little. She liked that.

“We’re at your flat, Belle. Are you in any pain?”

Belle tried moving her arm. That worked, although it might have had a couple bruises. She felt the spot Rumple had just caressed. “I-I was hit, wasn’t I? By the sphinx’s wing.”

“At least your memory is intact.” He let a smile appear. It was the nicest smile she’d ever seen on him. Why did he have to be a heartless, provocative imp when a kind smile could make him look this handsome? Made no sense.

“What a relief. But I don’t remember being beaten up.” Belle forced herself to sit up. It left her a touch woozy. Rumple’s hand helped her stay upright. She reached over and patted the helpful hand. There might have been a hitched breath from him. Belle kept her smile restrained. “Are these bruises from being flung onto your shoulder in the midst of another daring rescue?”

“Sadly, no. You were hit hard enough that you actually rolled off the edge. It wasn’t a long fall, at least.”

Wonderful. Even unconscious she was a klutz. “At least,” she muttered.

“You should have caught her sooner!” Gaston’s voice snapped from somewhere.

Belle could move enough without too much pain to see the knight’s silhouette through the canvas screen in the next room. He too was bedridden.

“It wouldn’t have been an issue,” Rumple said, “if you hadn’t insisted on no magic.”

“What?” Belle said.

“I might have mentioned something about how magic has a price.” Rumple leaned toward her ear and whispered, “He was being annoying about your fall, so I said that he might not want me to heal the broken leg if he wasn’t prepared to pay the price. So he demanded that I not heal either of you beyond your head injury.”

She slapped his shoulder. “You beast.”

He shrugged. “Takes one to catch one, I suppose.”

Belle’s smile and spirit deflated. Oh. Right. “So … I take it you told the sphinx the answer.”

Rumple also dropped his grin. “Yes. I did.”

“I see.” She sighed and curled up her legs. “Well, congratulations.”

She didn’t try reading into his scowl. Her arm hurt, as did her leg that she could see starting to turn an unsettling color along the shin. Despite having just come to, she wanted nothing else besides sleep.

She was allowed to do so after some questions about whether she wanted food first. What grumbling her stomach had done on the mountain was gone. In less than five minutes Belle drifted off, mildly perplexed at Rumple’s continuing presence at her side.

* * *

 Morning light coming through the cracks in the doorway roused her out of sleep. Belle was astonished to smell seasoned rice cooking. Rumple had bought, or more likely conjured up, a small pot belly stove. As well as rice, he was frying a few eggs. A bowl of dates sat on a little table beside her bed. It didn’t take much coaxing from him to accept the served plate and eat up. Gaston was not so cooperative, much to her amusement. When Rumple offered to heal her minor injuries from yesterday, Belle recalled what he said to Gaston. Was it true that magic came with a price? She asked. Rumple reluctantly answered it was so, although price was relative to the amount of magic used. Belle thanked him for the offer, but she was already improving. She could get up and walk, as long as she tread lightly and didn’t knock her bruised shin or arm into anything.

“Then is it safe to take a trip to the courtyard?” Rumple asked as he collected the dishes. “These need washing, and the water pump is down there.”

“Can’t you use magic?” Belle asked.

“It’s no trouble. So, coming or not?”

She agreed on condition that she assist with drying the plates. Rumple summoned a dish towel (really, how did he differentiate what did and didn’t warrant magic?) and led her down the steps, stone like the walls. The courtyard hadn’t earned Belle’s attention when she and Gaston arrived; it was meant to be a short stay, after all. It was nice to venture outdoors while avoiding the busy streets. Her mood took an unexpected turn, however, when she saw what else was being kept in the courtyard aside from the water pump.

With a length of golden thread that wrapped around one of the pillars supporting the interior walls of the apartments, the sphinx was kept leashed as she rested, chin on paws, sleepy-eyed. She found where the sun was shining into the space and claimed it for herself. If the fire had done damage to her fur last night, all trace was gone. Her mane was as lush as ever.

The beast lifted her head when Belle and Rumple made it halfway across the courtyard. Belle hung back a step in deference to the creature’s new master.

“Good morning,” the sphinx said cheerlessly. There was a hint of snarling in her address. “Has my owner come to collect me and bring me home as a trophy?”

Rumplestiltskin did not answer. He appeared to be waiting for something. Confused, Belle tilted forward. She caught his eye. He turned halfway around and raised his brows at her.

“I believe she’s talking to you.”

Belle started. “Me?”

“You did answer my riddle,” the sphinx said, sounding no more pleased than before.

“But—” Suddenly the matter became clear, and it hurt in a way Belle could never have expected. Not because she’d been wrong—gods above, just the opposite!—but because she made an assumption that, while not unreasonable, reflected more on her own failure in judgment of character. She looked to Rumple with a heartfelt apology in her eyes. Rumple answered with a smile. He then completed his trip to the water pump and set to work. Belle and her new beast were left alone.

“Either he’s a remarkable man,” the sphinx said, “or you must be a remarkable woman to persuade him to act with honesty. Not sure which I believe yet.”

Maybe the truth was a little of both, strained though she was to recall what she might have said or done to bring this about. Had this Rumplestiltskin always been hiding within the man most of the world saw? Had he felt sympathy and not hilarity at her accident during their duel? He was a trickier riddle than the sphinx could ever pose. Belle was certain of it.

She trained an eye on him even as she sat before the sphinx. She asked for her name.

“You’ll learn it when I think you’ve earned it,” was the sphinx’s response. “I’m just another trophy for your collection, or your zoo, or whatever it is so-called  _tamers_  have.”

“I don’t expect this change in your circumstances to be easy for you,” Belle said.

The sphinx reared her head. Rumple paused his washing. “Of course not!” she growled. “I am to be your slave, to fight for you and show off at your pleasure!”

Belle let her words sit with them. They deserved somber consideration. “I will not put you through anything you refuse to endure.”

“As if.” The sphinx scoffed. “If that were true, I wouldn’t be tied up to this pillar like a dog.”

“I know many of your kind prefer death to captivity. Those who have had their riddles answered have thrown themselves to their deaths.” Belle looked at her with sorrow and kindness. “You did not want to end your life. It’s worth more to you than keeping your freedom. But in freedom you were alone. Were you happy?”

“You’re human. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Maybe not.” She dared to inch closer. The sphinx shuffled but did not retreat. “But you may have forgotten how companionship feels. You will have that with my trainees and me, though they are not your species. Give us a chance. If you remain unhappy … I will set you free.”

The creature turned her face away. “Why should I believe you? Humans are not bound to their promises as I am. I know better than to trust you.”

“I’m afraid you don’t have much choice right now.” A sad truth, and it caught Belle in a quandary. She never wished to diminish a beast’s dignity in her profession. Thinking about it now, she found her motives for capturing the sphinx questionable. Maybe she was doing wrong. Maybe certain creatures shouldn’t be placed on a leash, even if they can be.

She couldn’t think of anything else to do. So Belle got on her knees and bowed low to the sphinx. “Great sphinx, you belong to a proud race. I might never be worthy to learn your name, nor to ask you to remain in my homeland. If it should satisfy you, let me only bring you back to my father’s kingdom and show you the life you could have. Afterward, should you wish it, I will set you free.”

The beast huffed over her. Her eye caught the long tail twitching at the end. She held in a smile. Any creature that was part-cat proved a challenge to please. But if one could successfully stroke a cat’s ego, that was half the battle won.

“Do what you must,” the sphinx declared. She sniffed loudly. “I’m tired from your talking. Let me sleep until it’s time to leave.” Her head plopped right down without another word from anyone.

It was a place to start. Belle rose and left the courtyard all-in-all pleased. She took the washed plates from Rumple and sat on the steps to dry them. Gaston had gone back to sleep, and between a knight and a sphinx she was content to wait on the stairs for a bit.

“You’re too soft, I think,” Rumplestiltskin said, sitting down beside her.

Belle, smiling, dried a plate and handed it back to him. “If you think so, why let me have her? You could have lied. Not even. Just giving the answer, no matter its source, would've been enough. Yet you told her the truth.”

He tried to pshaw her words away, to no avail. Throughout the drying she did, her attention barely left him. Their legs touched from sitting. Belle dared to press into him. As she hoped, he fidgeted just a little, yet never seemed inclined to stand or leave her.

“Well?” Belle said.

“It’s as I told you: I like a challenge now and then. If I have all the best entries in the Typhon Cup Tamers Tournament, it will be just too easy. I’ll still win, of course.”

Belle glared from under frowning eyebrows.

Rumple nervously drummed his fingers on the newest plate. “That is, it’s very likely I’ll win. But who can say?”

Why did she feel a little sad all of a sudden? Belle looked down at the plate in her hands. She sighed. “Is it always going to be like this?”

“Like what?”

She stopped drying. All pretense of being the least bit interested in domestic tasks was abandoned. Belle stared him down. “You’re like a peacock. You have to strut and preen wherever you go. It’s like you can’t help it, or you’re deathly afraid of anyone seeing beneath the flashy feathers. You never consider that maybe the less over-confident parts, dare I say the  _nice_  parts, are much more interesting to me. Or, uh, other people.” She did her best to believe the warmth in her cheeks did not indicate that they were flushing.

Rumplestiltskin said nothing. He watched his thumbs explore the edges of the plates, particularly one spot where the porcelain had chipped. How it happened Belle didn’t know. The way he returned to it again and again whispered a secret truth to her. She let impulse take the lead, trusting it would not result in regret. Her hand found his that rested the calloused pad of his thumb on the chip. Rumple breathed in sharply. He peered up, finally meeting her eye-to-eye.

“I’d like to know, for instance, why your thumb and forefinger have those callouses.” Belle rested two of her smaller fingers atop his thumb. Heat trailed down her arm and up her neck and she made no attempt to dismiss it. She just hoped that if Rumple felt how warm her skin was, he wouldn’t be frightened away.

Very slowly, his hand turned over. Those rough fingers cupped around hers. His nostrils flared, and his breathing shallowed.

“We’ll see,” he muttered. “Maybe it’s a story worth sharing on the way home.”

The hidden promise in the words shortened her own breath. She linked her fingers with his.

 


End file.
